Page 37 of A Mile of Ocean

“I’ll hold you to that,” Savannah said as she ushered the kids to form a line. “I need to get them back to school. Will I see you tonight?”

“Probably not. But I’ll see you tomorrow at school, teacher.”

“I’m not sure that’s such a good idea,” Savannah noted. “The ranch could probably use you there twenty-four-seven. I understand if you need to cancel.”

“We’ll talk later,” Trent promised.

As the congregation dispersed, Trent spent the next half hour shaking hands with a line of people offering their condolences.

When the crowd thinned out, he walked to his truck. He was about to take off his suit jacket and crawl behind the wheel when Colt came up. “Those two names you gave us, Jessop and Hays, didn’t have anything to do with Barrett’s death,” Colt outlined. “One works on a ranch in New Mexico. The other guy works at a meat packing plant in Arkansas. They’re not linked by their social media accounts or anything we found online. And so far, their alibis are checking out. Neither man was anywhere near California Friday night.”

“That’s disappointing. I had hoped that the lead might pan out. This morning, Hawk and Drum found tracks in a sectionwhere tracks shouldn’t have been. We think the man responsible for all this has been hiding, possibly camping outbeforeFriday.”

“Okay, I’ll send Tricia out there to take photos of the tracks. Listen, do you need more men? Maybe the graveside service is a good place to ask for volunteers.”

“I could do that. But I’d feel responsible if anything happened to anyone. This guy is out to get Callums, not innocent bystanders. Having said that, I know there could be collateral damage. Losing Slade was bad enough; I don’t want to add to that list.”

“Think about it. There’s something else. We’re looking into the accident your parents had. What your grandmother told you is not entirely accurate unless you misunderstood.”

“I didn’t misunderstand. Which part did she get wrong?”

“She said they were returning to the ranch from town when it happened, right?”

“Yeah.”

Colt shook his head. “The accident occurred off that bridge south of town. Unless they were coming from San Sebastian or somewhere south of here, that’s not coming back from town. Your dad was driving north toward the ranch when the tire took a hit, probably from a .30-30 rifle. Linley Callum was driving. She lost control and went over the right side of the bridge. Back then, there was no guardrail, nothing to stop a vehicle from crash-landing below. The pickup landed upside down in the lagoon. The water level was about knee-deep. So what your grandmother told you doesn’t fit.”

“You got those details from the accident report?”

“Yep, word for word. However, Theo is still on it, checking the case file for any other discrepancies.”

“Like what?”

“Like in witness statements. That part of the road is heavily traveled. Several witnesses had to see something, even in thepouring rain. By the way, Brent wants to do a re-enactment of Barrett’s shooting.”

“When?”

“The sooner, the better.”

“What about this afternoon after the service at the cemetery?”

Colt nodded. “I’ll text Brent to set it up. He’s headed to the ranch now. I’ll follow you home.”

For all theworry he’d done that morning, Trent found the men had held down the fort without a major incident. Drum had already led Trish Vosberg to the scene of the tracks, and she’d spent an hour taking photos.

“They look like cowboy boot prints, not work boots but the kind that cost four hundred bucks,” Trish noted. “The kind that men wear out to kick up their heels on a Saturday night to show off their line dancing skills, not boots that get muddy working on a ranch.”

“Someone who wears flashy cowboy boots, not the kind you wear to muck out the horse stalls,” Theo added. “I don’t trust people who wear those. An interesting snapshot of the guy’s mindset—a pretend Saturday night cowboy.”

“So, we check every guy’s boots that comes and goes,” Brent established. “I’ll text Trent. Make sure you guys look around for collateral evidence. Maybe he’s camped out somewhere in the vicinity. If he’s been here since last week, we should be able to find something. If he’s camping out for weeks, he has to buy supplies somewhere.”

“Or live off the land,” Theo stated.

“A pretend cowboy who can shoot game?” Brent theorized, shaking his head. “I’m not buying it. Check Ferguson’s Hardware. See if anyone’s bought gear recently.”

Back at his house, Trent got out of his Ford truck and noticed the men had traded their work clothes for their best jackets, shirts, and pants. They wore spit-polished dress shoes, their hair slicked back with fragrant mousse.

“I don’t recognize Blake,” he said to Tate.

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